


A non-invasive study

by LeDiz



Series: The 48: Farscape [2]
Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen, Humans Are Weird, Physiology, Poor Crichton, We make sense in context, of which there is none on the other side of the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiz/pseuds/LeDiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zhaan needs to understand human physiology, in case Crichton ever gets sick. Crichton's not really down with the whole alien autopsy thing - even if it's not an autopsy and especially not when he's the alien. Shame he always sucked at biology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A non-invasive study

Crichton stares for a long time.

Then he stares some more.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?”

“Study your physiology,” Zhaan says again. “I have samples from everyone on board, except for you and Aeryn. From Aeryn, I require only a vial of blood—”

“No,” she says firmly, before going back to glaring at Crichton.

“—as this ship is well-versed in the medical requirements of sebaceans. You, however, are not a sebacean, and so it would be prudent for me to study your physiology.”

“Y-yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna match up with her,” he says, pointing at Aeryn. “I don’t care what they call themselves, sebaceans look pretty damn human to me.”

Zhaan does not look impressed by this reasoning. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crichton. You are from a completely different side of the universe. There is absolutely no way for humans and sebaceans to be the same species. I will strive to make the study as non-invasive as possible –”

“No!” he shouts, scrambling away from her. “No, I did not come halfway across the universe and meet all kinds of alien life just to prove Billy-Bob the Redneck right! No alien probing!”

“Be reasonable, Crichton,” she says impatiently. “What if you were to get sick? How would we have any idea how to treat you, or even know if you are sick, if we don’t know how your body is supposed to function correctly?”

“Because I’ll tell you, that’s why!”

“And if you are unconscious?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Stops to consider. Then stomps his foot and says again, “I’m not goin’ on the table for your home grown version of Alien Autopsy!”

“I could still knock him out,” Aeryn offers, and he twists around to scowl at her. She glowers back. “Stop being childish. It makes perfect sense.”

“Says the chick that won’t even give up a pint of blood.”

“That is strategic,” she argues. “As Zhaan mentioned, this vessel was designed to carry PeaceKeepers. Therefore, there will be medical information about how to treat me, should I fall ill or be injured. The provision of my blood would do nothing more than provide ample opportunity for biological testing and blackmail.”

“Now that is ridiculous,” Zhaan says, but she leaves the argument aside to instead focus on Crichton.

It goes on for another half an hour before he compromises by allowing her to do a scan. It’s kind of like an X-Ray, only with a handheld device, and prints out on what looks like overhead projector sheets. It’s kind of amazing, actually – one slide shows organs, another bones, nerves are on a third, and muscles on a fourth. They go over the sheets together. Crichton points out the organs he can identify, and what they do. His biology was never very good, but he does his best.

“I can survive with only one kidney, my liver can get chopped up a bit without enduring damage, my stomach doesn’t need to be as big as it is, as long as it’s sealed, and I _think_ the intestines can get shortened,” he says with a wince. “I don’t need my appendix – in fact all it really seems to do is get appendicitis, which can kill me, so I’m kind of hoping that doesn’t happen.”

They both stare at him blankly. “Why do you have this… appendix… if it doesn’t do anything?”

“It’s vestigial.”

They continue staring.

“Left over from evolution,” he explains. “Probably got used when we used to eat grass, or whatever.”

 They exchange a glance that he’s learning means ‘humans/Crichton is ridiculous’. He’s learning not to take it personally, because otherwise he’s going to spend most of his life pissed off.

“The rest of it seems to match sebacean physiology,” Aeryn reports. “Though your glands are different, and many of your arteries are misplaced. Your body is extremely inefficient.”

“I am _so_ sorry,” he snaps.

“The brain is slightly more developed than that of a sebacean,” Zhaan notes, her tone reproving and directed mostly at Aeryn. “And overall, the way you deal with outside influences is surprisingly robust. What temperatures does your planet reach?”

“I don’t know enough about your gauges to translate,” he admits. “And we’ve got three different units of measurement.”

“That’s all?” Aeryn asks, and they both glare at her.

“I assume Crichton is referring to temperature alone.”

“Yeah. Farenheit, Celcius, Kelvin,” he recites. “Water boils at 100 Celcius, freezes at zero.”

“A serviceable rate. And your planet’s temperatures on that scale?”

“Uhh… I’m better with Farenheit and Kelvin,” he says. “And I never really bothered to check. I guess most people live in places with temperatures between—” He pauses to calculate. “—zero and thirty-five. Desert countries get hotter and colder, though.”

They both give him a sidelong look. “Desert _countries_?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, you don’t get deserts on the coast, but they’re still more extreme than say Maine.”

Zhaan leans forward slightly. “What kind of ecosystem does your planet have, exactly?”

“My _planet_?” he repeats, and doesn’t get it. “Depends on where you are. Really cold on the top and bottom, really hot and wet around the middle, and kind of… everything in between. Russia’s freezing, Africa’s hot, Asia’s humid, Australia’s dry, and America’s just right.” He tosses a wink at Aeryn. “Best country there is.”

“It varies so much?” Zhaan asks, and he stares back.

“Uh, yah. Doesn't everywhere?”

“No wonder they’re so primitive,” Aeryn says, throwing up her hands. “They spend every day struggling to survive!”

“Hey, screw you, sunshine,” Crichton snaps, before his mind kicks in and he starts processing exactly what their surprise means. “You mean most planets only have one eco-system?”

“Yes,” Zhaan blinks rapidly, clearly still surprised by the concept of multiple. “It is pivotal to evolution, as a species becomes adapt at surviving in their appropriate environment. I do not mean to offend you, Crichton, but Aeryn is right. It is no longer surprising your species is so underdeveloped if your planet does not provide a singular environment.”

Or it could mean his species is just built to survive no matter where they go, he thinks to himself, but that’s an argument he can’t be bothered having, so he instead turns back to the sheets. “Okay. Uh… other things to think about. I can die from blood loss. Clip an artery and I’m in real trouble, since they’re the big pumpers. My bones can heal from breaking, so long as they’re set back together.”

Zhaan nods thoughtfully. “Do your limbs regenerate at all?”

“Uh… skin, muscle, yes. With scar tissue. But we can’t, like, regrow fingers and arms and stuff.”

She nods again, filing it away. “That is fairly standard. What do you need to survive?”

He scrunches up his face. “Nutrients. Like, food. Water. Oxygen. My brain can only go a few minutes without oxygen.”

“I will assume you match sebacean requirements until we learn otherwise,” she says, and he figures that’s fair. She considers for another short while, eyes roaming the walls as she thinks. “How long can you survive in open space?”

“Ooh, hard, um… debatable,” he says, because he’s got some friends in the space program that study it. “Explosive decompression is a thing, but that’s more to do with atmospheric pressure changes. And it takes time. Current theory says that as long as we’re not sweating or being particularly mucus-ey, and mostly covered up, we might be able to last a minute before blowing up.”

“Current theory?”

“No one really wants to test it,” he points out, and she has to give him that.

“Probably the same as sebacean,” Aeryn offers, and Zhaan nods again.

“Is your blood toxic at all?”

He shrugs. “Not to me. But there are a bunch of different blood types, and having the wrong kind in your system can be dangerous.” He pauses, then adds, “Open wounds get infected easy, though.”

“Of course.” She sits back, obviously trying to think of other questions to ask. “How do you fair in liquid?”

“I can swim,” he says. “But we’re not amphibious.”

“Direct sunlight?”

“I like it,” he says, lifting his arm to show his tan, then realises she has no way of knowing he’s naturally a pasty white like Aeryn. “Uh, yeah, we do okay in it. Too much UV light is dangerous, but we’re healthier with regular doses.”

“Photogasms?”

“What?”

She smiles and doesn’t explain. “I notice you cover your head when you sleep.”

And isn’t that kind of creepy, that she’s watched him to know. “It’s the light. We sleep better in darkness.”

“Ah, you’re a diurnal species.”

It takes him a second to remember the word. It isn’t used all that often. “Yes.”

She beckons him over to a panel on the wall, and shows him a small white light. When she touches it, the room darkens to twilight, and he groans. “There’s a light switch?”

She chuckles but doesn’t comment as she turns it back on. Two _weeks_ he’s been hiding under the covers!

“Is there anything else I should know? Any special abilities? Weaknesses?”

He sighs heavily, still staring at the light switch. “I dunno, Zhaan. You don’t know what you don’t know.”

“That is… remarkably true,” Aeryn comments.

It’s the first time he feels like she might understand where he’s coming from.

**Author's Note:**

> The 48 is a collection of unfinished fics saved on my hard drive. I am posting them here in case anyone is interested. To be honest, though - the Farscape ones are less unfinished and more just... you know... fifteen years too late. Shame about that.


End file.
